


salt taste

by mothicalcreatures (laelreenia)



Series: Reunion [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 10:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15839058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laelreenia/pseuds/mothicalcreatures
Summary: Maglor can no longer abide the taste of salt. In which Maglor turns inland from the sea and makes some unlikely friends.





	salt taste

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "The taste of salt on the tip of your tongue."

Not for the first time Maglor found himself growing nauseous at the bitter taste of salt in his mouth. There had been a time, long ago, when the salt breeze of the sea had been refreshing, comforting even. Now it was just a reminder of everything Maglor had lost and it had been for some time.

Awisp of a thought trailed through is mind that he should travel inland away from the sea, but he payed it no heed. The land was too peopled further inland and truly even further north. He had for a while, travelled up by the Blue Mountains near to the Havens, but with more and more elves sailing, the ache of exile and the desire to not be come upon by his people had sent Maglor further south. But the south held the kingdoms of men, where Maglor would stick out as an oddity even for an elf. For he had to doubt if many men had seen a bearded elf before. In truth, he had not had many dealings with men since the fall of Númenor.

Maglor drifted along the coast, moving first south and then north and then south again, never going further north than the Baranduin and never further south than the River Angren. But the salt in his mouth was ever choking him and one night when he woke with a cry from dreams that had filled his mouth with blood Maglor could take it no longer.

Unless he truly couldn’t help it, Maglor sought no interaction with anyone. He had, however, at a time, when bartering for goods with some traveling merchants some time during the second age, been given a map of the lands. Cities and realms had surely changed by now, but Maglor did not think the land itself should have changed overmuch and abandoned places like the ruins of Lond Daer where he often slept when he crossed the Gwathló River, where just as good a landmark as a thriving city.

Maglor didn’t much like the idea of heading inland, but he was tired and after two ages by the sea the lonesome grief it brought had become too much to bear. Perhaps traveling inland he could find somewhere to finally rest. Though was he truly deserving of rest? No. No, he wasn’t.

Still, the rickety old boat that Maglor had been using to cross the Gwathló wasn’t water worthy anymore, so he would have to head further inland to cross the river anyway. He let out a long despairing sigh, staring out at the horizon over the sea. Wearily, Maglor hauled himself to his feet and started walking, keeping to the banks of the Gwathló, it would take him north, but he change course easily enough before his path brought him too close to Rivendell.

 

More had fallen into ruin than Maglor had initially thought. The realization came as Maglor finally made his way to Tharbad, only to find that the bridge at Tharbad had collapsed of age and neglect. How long had it really been since he had spoken with those merchants? Surely not more than an age… but longer than he had realized, that much was clear. Maglor pulled out the map to exam it. The next crossing point noted on it was just outside of Rivendell, which was out of the question.He would be most unwelcome there and he owed it to Elrond to stay away. He would have to either find another way to ford the river or turn around and head south. Maglor had not the things to set up camp, preferring to stretch himself until he could no longer move to keep the nightmares at bay.

He was leaned back against a rock by the riverbank that had once been part of the Tharbad bridge not asleep, but resting, when he heard the riders approach. They were laughing and egging each other to go faster. Maglor stood quickly, intendingto slip further into the ruins to avoid being seen, but then one of the riders hailed him in… Westron, Maglor thought, he did not speak Westron well. He spoke only enough Westron to get by with traveling merchants during the second age, and the language had without doubt changed since then.

Maglor still had not found his voice, or the words, to reply to the two riders when they reached the rivers edge and dismounted and Maglor realized that they were elves. Twins. He would be forever haunted by twins it would seem and worse, they bore an eerie resemblance to Elrond and Elros.

“Greetings,” Maglor said in Sindarin, the clarity of his voice startling him. It had been long since he’d used his voice for anything but song. “I’m afraid I speak little Westron.”

The two elves exchanged glances. “Our apologies, we assumed you one of the Rohirrim for your beard.”

A race of men more than likely, the name sounded familiar, but Maglor could not truly place it. “Do not apologize, I know how uncommon bearded elves are. Not many remain who are as old as I am.”

“Do you have a camp we might join you at?” the other elf asked. “We have been traveling some time without rest and our horses are quite tired.”

“I have no camp, I’m afraid, but you are welcome to spend the night here.” The choice to head south was made for him then, if these elves were traveling northhe needed to travel in the opposite direction.

“Well, then you must join us out our camp,” the first elf said. “There are still too many fell things abroad to sleep alone without a proper fire.”

“I could not impose,” Maglor said. “And I must continue my journey, but I thank you for your offer.”

“What is your destination?” the second elf asked. “If you head to Rivendell, that is our destination as well.”

Maglor shook his head. “I travel south.”

The second elf was about to object again, but his brother grabbed his arm and addressed Maglor himself. “I mean no disrespect, but it is truly not safe to travel so alone at night. Sauron may be destroyed, but orcs and Uruk-hai still roam wild in great numbers around Isengard.”

Sauron destroyed? He had been thought destroyed once, but Maglor had heard the whispers through the years. The shock must have been apparent on his face, because the young elves looked concerned.

“You did not know?” the second elf asked.

Maglor shook his head it. “I had not… I…” Maglor found himself at a loss for words. Could the last evil of Morgoth really be gone? There was a deep longing that surged up within him that Maedhros had been here to witness Sauron’s downfall. But… if Maglor had missed such an event as the ending Sauron, what else had he missed in the ages lost in sorrow by the sea.

“Very well,” Maglor said, after another long moment. “I will spend the night at your camp.”

Both young elves looked relieved, and they set about taking their packs off their horses and getting a fire started.

“We have been terribly rude in not introducing ourselves,” the first elf said. “I am Elladan, and this is my brother Elrohir. We are the sons of Elrond Peredhel.”

The way Elladan made that final statement about being the sons of Elrond made Maglor wonder if he hadn’t made a guess as to Maglor’s identity.

“I…” Maglor was at a loss for what name to give them. He had not used a name in two whole ages it seemed. “I have no name,” he said finally.“The last name I held no longer suits me and I have had no need for another in quite sometime. I suppose you could call me Ioredhel if you wish Lomedhel would be apt as well.”

Elrohir frowned. “They are straight forwad, I suppose. I will call you Ioredhel, it seems to me the less sad of the two. Perhaps in time you will think of a better name. What skills do you have perhaps….” Elrohir trailed off, seeming to realize the irony of him trying to help such an old elf, who surely knew the elven naming conventions, find a name.

“I was named for my skill in music in my youth,” Maglor said, looking pointedly at Elladan. “But alas, I cannot play anymore.” He turned his palms towards the two young elves and there was a sharp intake of breath from the both of them.

Maglor’s palms and fingers were covered in angry red burn scars that looked to be in a permanent state of half healed.

Elrohir immediately grabbed for his pack, “I have salve. Our father is a healer, if you come with us, he could-“

Elrohirstopped when Maglor shook his head. “They are very old. There is nothing more than can be done for them.”

“But they look… they don’t look more than year old,” Elrohir said and Maglor closed his hand.

“They are… cursed is perhaps the wrong word… but they were not inflicted through natural means.They do not pain me so much anymore, but I will never play the harp again.”

Both Elrohir and Elladan were silent for several long moments and Maglor suddenly wished he had not shared quite so much. He had not realized how much he missed the companionship of others, particularly other elves.

“You should come back to Rivendell with us,” Elladan said, after a time. “So, the wounds are old, our father is a great healer, if anyone could do something for them he could.”

“I cannot.” Maglor said.

 

Maglor reluctantly shared the meal that Elladan and Elrohir prepared, before offering to take first watch. Well, he offered to keep watch all night, but Elrohir andElladan had both insisted that they trade off. It was strange to receive such welcome from these two elves. Especially since Maglor suspected quite strongly that at least Elladan knew who he was. Surely the sons of Elrond would know about their father’s kidnappers. Or perhaps Elrond had never shared those stories. Despite everything, Maglor could not help but feel proud that Elrond had grown to be the elf that he’d become. He’d heard some of the stories of the last alliance and it was clear too, from everything he’d heard that Elrond had built something wonderful in Rivendell. And, if one were to judge the father by the sons, Elrond had raised two wonderful, kind children. So despite being raised in good part, by two kinslayers, Elrond had grown up quite well indeed.

“Were you ever going to wake me?” Elladan accused suddenly and Maglor was wrenched abruptly from his thoughts.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I was lost in my thoughts. I am unused to traveling with others.”

“How long has it been?” Elladan asked, only a bit probing, Maglor thought.

“I’m not sure I could say, what year is it and of what age?.”

“It is the Third Age still, though it is in its final days,” Elladan said. “The year is 3020.”

"And how many years was the Second Age?"

"3400 years or so."

Maglor was quiet for a moment. “Then it has been six thousand year or thereabouts, give or take a few centuries.”

“You are Maglor Fëanorion aren’t you.”

It wasn’t a question. “I am. If you wish me to leave I will.”

“No. If had I wanted you gone, then I would have already insisted. Besides, I made the decision to trust you to take first watch.”

Maglor had not thought considered that, but that was a not insignificant display of trust. “Does Elrohir know?”

“I do not think so,” Elladan said. “I have always been more driven to the study of our history than Elrohir. We both heard stories of you and Maedhros when we were younger, but I sought out more stories when I was older. If you would come back to Rivendell with us, our father would welcome you with open arms. He has missed you greatly.”

“Has he?” It felt impossible, yet here was Elrond’s son saying that it wasn’t. Maglor didn’t know what to think.

“He has,” Elladan said. “I do not ask you to stay in Rivendell,” he continued. “I am not ignorant to your past. But I do know that my father would give anything to see you just once more before he sails west.”

Maglor opened his mouth to speak, but again found himself lost for words and tears sprung up in his eyes. He shouldn’t visit Elrond. He should stay away as he had done for the last two ages…. Elrond wanting him there seemed so hard to believe, and yet… Maglor found himself feeling too selfish to say no.

“I will go with you,” he said softly after several more long moments.

Elladan smiled. “Good. Now take the advice of someone much younger than you and go to sleep.”

Maglor smiled lightly as well, and while he did not truly sleep, he let himself slip into a peaceful meditation in a way that he had not done for some time and when he dreamed, the dreams came from the good and gentle memories of raising young Elrond and Elros. Perhaps it could come to be a good thing that the vile taste of salt had driven him from the sea.


End file.
